Doubting Doubt

When I was young
I believed
Oh, I believe
My belief was encompassing
It was all
Part of Me and Me Part of all
I wanted to expand my faith
I sought to know
I sought to base my faith
On Knowledge, Knowing
Gnosis
The more I learned
The less I believed
Until I knew there was no god
No basis for faith
My knowledge became encompassing
The main factthat it surrounded
Was there was no place
for Belief
Then I was alone
But now I don't feel alone
As a paranoid feels his companion
About the fringes of consciousness
Out of the corner of my mind's eye
Something sidles
Laughing at my doubts
Snickering at my certainties
Cocking a brow
Sneering in doubt
At the improbability of me
The oddness of myself
                        Richard Lorenzen

  Methadone Madness

What is pathetic is she knows she’s being
cheated, given the short end of the stick
after all it is her piss    her aunt uses it
to fool the doctors with
she knows her aunt uses it to make money with
to fool the doctors with somehow
and she knows her aunt is making money
so why can’t she have a cut,   all she wants is
maybe a chocolate bar or a dollar or something
her aunt has got some scheme with the doctor
- she doesn’t know all the ins and outs -
but they need her piss.. why? who cares?
least they could do is give her a buck…
she wishes everyone wasn’t on drugs allatime
a lousy buck!     it’s her piss after all.
                                             R. Loewen
        who has ears
sing ourselves
into oblivion
in blind extravagance
an extravaganza
of opulent musicality
resounding
off the falling walls
while samson
pushes pillars down
we party
praise composers
stroke violins in the burning
not forced
like prisoners in death camps
but freely
inside barbed wire
as monied elites squeeze in
and humanitarians walk away
smiling with paychecks in
hotrods to suburban pools
we fall
and drag our bodies
to nights of opera
inside the morgue
of our neighbourhood
                 sparrow

 When They Were Young

When they were young
Fish and game were plenty for all.
When they were young
The mountains were green with trees
And you could drink the water.
Now that our Elders are not so young,
You can see the pride in their faces
When they share their stories
With those of us who were not there.
You can’t buy an Elder.
                    Fred Arrance

Lucifer Likes Your Car

you’re
swallowed whole
engulfed
a vague impression of a being
blurred by speed and glass
you talk to yourself, pick and
scratch
nobody calls you crazy ‘cause
you’re too small to be noticed
a soul diminished by one automobile…
lucifer likes your car
sold you to it so cheap you paid
and pay and pay and pay
sexy and safe you murder
butterflies birds snakes and honeybees
and toads and moles and deer ‘nd folk
without notice
you usually don’t notice…
fuled by blood and war your car
shines in the sun
chokes me gags my earth
makes my earth gag
you honking when I walk too slow
should have the right to run me down when
my light turns red
should have the right to rage
your children
strapped securely inside…
you’ve been robbed of imagination
can’t imagine how you’d get along without
are enslaved by lies
feel you fly on iron wings when
your car is flying on you maybe
it’s time to buy a new one…

                               jiang chang

 

I wish those “Welfare bums’ would stop sucking
            off the Public tit.
‘They” are ruining our nice land
Along with the pushy squeegee kids
And those unwashed panhandlers.
Why don’t they get a job.. or at least a haircut?
They make my shopping trips uncomfortable
Those children on the cold and damp pavement
Why don’t they get a job?
Why aren't they in school?
Do you suppose they are doing a survey of
             public compassion?
On Broadway and Granville I talked to an
            older man
Pushing his stuff in a Safeway cart.
He told me his story - about his job,
            about the company ‘s ruin
The loss of his West-side apartment
And then about his own fall from grace.
There are many stories out there.
But the people are getting less and lessable
            to speak our language—
The language of the roof-over-our-heads
The language of warmth-in-winter
The language of food-in-belly
Aclean clothes kind of dialect.
                                    Wilhelmina Miles

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